A Mother's Touch
by rwusydney
Summary: Vaughn takes Sydney home to meet his mother. Takes place directly after 2.18 "Truth Takes Time."


Title: A Mother's Touch (1/1)  
Author: rwusydney  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Vaughn takes Sydney home to meet his mother.  
Spoilers: This story picks up right where "Truth Takes Time" (Season 2, Episode 18) ended.   
'Ship: Sydney/Vaughn  
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Alias. This is purely for my own enjoyment.  
Distribution: Please ask me first.  
Author's Note: This story was a submission (and eventual winner!) for the SD-1 November Challenge. Thanks to Faith for fixing my run-on sentences and for just taking the time even while working on college applications. Special thanks to Lyzawer for all the encouragement and support and for reading the story a billion times and telling me it was good. This story, "pet name" and all, is for you.   
________________  
  
_Truth takes time._  
  
The words echo over and over in my head. As if the echo alone isn't annoying enough, I hear it in my mother's voice. As I lie in bed beside Vaughn, she is the last person I want on my mind. In the dark, I roll on my side and reach for the torn pieces of paper on the nightstand. I hold it towards the window attempting to use the dim ribbons of light seeping in through the mini blinds to study those dreadful words again. Maybe I got the coding wrong. The word _hate_ is in there too and that has to mean something since I feel like my life is full of hate and nothing more.   
  
As if he can hear my thoughts, Vaughn reaches through the dark to find me. I feel his warm hand on my stomach pulling me closer and I remember that not everything in my life is bad.   
  
"What are you doing up?" he whispers.  
  
I roll over to face him and show him the strips of paper. "Do you think we misunderstood the coding?"  
  
He stares at me for a moment then reaches up to touch my cheek. "It's possible. Run it by Marshall if that'll make you feel better."  
  
I sigh. "What am I supposed to think she means by this?"   
  
"I guess it's open to interpretation."  
  
"Nothing is ever easy or straightforward or just normal. She's stringing me along, that's what she's doing. She is the most evil force on the planet but she never wants me to quit hoping that she can be my mother. She knows my weakness and she will never stop playing off of it." Angrily I flop onto my back and return the wretched torn papers to the nightstand.  
  
"Syd, it's not exactly a weakness to love your own mother," he says softly.  
  
I'm crying now and I angrily wipe at my face. The woman is not worth tears and I'm angry with myself for allowing them to fall so freely. He wraps an arm around me and pulls me closer.   
  
"What does she know about the truth anyway?" I growl through tears. I'm so frantic with anger now that it scares me out of the bed. I trust Vaughn with everything but I don't trust myself enough to let him see me like this. I slip out of my room and close myself in the bathroom. I put the toilet cover down and then sit. With my head in my hands, I begin to sob.   
  
I hate when I get this way. Up until things fell into place with Vaughn, I had been so good at compartmentalizing, just being a professional and accepting that my life is different. But he makes me feel safe and, so, naturally I have become vulnerable to things that I'd normally put a wall up against and fight off with every fiber of my being. One could argue (and I am sure that Devlin would) that being with Vaughn makes me a lousy spy. I suppose it's why they place all these rules and restrictions on agent/handler relationships. I suppose it's why workplaces around the world discourage romance amongst colleagues.   
  
But what the world doesn't know is that Vaughn is probably the only thing that keeps me alive and working as hard as I do to get to the end of whatever this lifelong mission turns out to be. In the beginning I used to think that with the end of the Alliance, everything would become normal for me. But that happened and things are still a million miles away from normal. The only good to come of the Alliance's destruction has been that I get to be with Vaughn. Now that I know what that is like, I want it all. I fantasize about the big house with the white picket fence and the 2.5 children. I know it's such a cliché but I yearn to have something, anything to do with a clichéd lifestyle.  
  
I tear about a foot of toilet paper from the roll and bunch it up to wipe my face with. I take a deep breath and that's when Vaughn knocks on the bathroom door.  
  
"You can come in," I call to him.   
  
He opens the door and stares at me with the most heartbreaking look on his face. "You've had a really rough day. You should get some sleep," he tells me.  
  
"I don't think I can sleep. Nothing will be different when I wake up in the morning."   
  
He sighs, looks down at the tile floor in the bathroom and says nothing. Deep down he knows that I am right and that there is nothing he can say to make things better. He makes his way across the bathroom anyway, takes my hand and pulls me to a standing position. "Come to bed. Please?"   
  
I don't put up a fight when he pulls me gently towards the bedroom.   
  
"Do you ever wish for normal?" I ask him once we're settled back in bed. "I suppose your life was pretty normal before you knew me."  
  
He chuckles. "This, right now, feels normal."  
  
I look at him sadly. "I'll bet _your_ mother is normal."  
  
"She is," he says with a smile.  
  
"She probably made you peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch every day and cut the crusts off too."  
  
"I never really had a problem with the crusts," he says with another smile.  
  
"Did she drive you to hockey practice and pick you up every day?"  
  
"Well, we did a carpool with this kid down the street, so, every other day."  
  
"A carpool. Right." I think about telling Vaughn that my parents never knew my friends' parents and that the nanny drove me to and from school everyday but I don't because I know I am just feeling sorry for myself.  
  
"What's this about?" he asks with concern.  
  
I shrug my shoulders. "I don't know. It's not everyday that your murderous mother sends you a message by Morse Code through a pair of earrings. I guess I'd just like to know what normal feels like for a minute."  
  
"How about for a day?"   
  
"What?"  
  
"Tomorrow. We'll go and see my mother."  
  
"Are you insane?"  
  
"Maybe," he laughs.  
  
"How is meeting the wife of a man my mother murdered going to make me feel normal?"  
  
"She has a way about her. I'm not sure how she does it."  
  
"Does she know who I am?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Oh god."  
  
"She knows and she still keeps bugging me to bring you home. I didn't want to rush things by suggesting it but this seems like the right time."  
  
I can hear my heart beating in my ears and I feel a flash of heat pass over my entire body. I recognize these symptoms as being nervous indicators but it's been so long since anything or anyone has made me nervous so it surprises me. I have to wonder what is more nerve wracking: that Vaughn wants to take me home to meet his mother or that this mother might have something to say to me that I know I do not want to hear.  
  
"Have I made a mistake?" Vaughn asks through the silence. "Should I not have suggested this?"   
  
"No, no…it's just that meeting the family…well, even in normal conditions, that's a stressful event. It's also a big deal. A _huge_ deal, Vaughn. And there's this whole added level to me meeting your mother. I just don't know if I am ready for that. I mean…are you?"   
  
He laughs and can't look directly at me when he says, "I think I've been ready for you to meet my mother since the day you walked into my office with that ridiculous red hair."   
  
I let out a deep breath and my entire body feels tingly with nerves and happiness all at the same time. I reach for him and my heart is pounding against the inside of my head as I say, "I'd be honored to meet your mother tomorrow."   
  
***  
  
In the morning he double checks with me to make sure I really do want to go and when I insist that I do, he calls his mother and lets her know we are coming. In the shower, I try to prepare myself for the worst by rehearsing lines like _I'm so sorry about what my mother did to you and your family. I hope you can forgive me. _I imagine her slapping me across the face and I think that would hurt me more than any beating or torture session I have ever taken while on the job. I wonder what Vaughn's reaction would be and, in my nightmares, he stands tall beside his mother and stares at me with stony, heartless eyes.  
  
In the car on the way there, I feel nauseous and I am surprised, once again, by my ability to remain calm and cool in the face of pure evil such as Sloane while barely keeping my nerves together at the prospect of meeting Mrs. William Vaughn.   
  
"We're about ten minutes away," Vaughn says as he takes the exit off the freeway. "Are you okay?" he reaches over and takes my hand.  
  
I turn and look at him then give his hand a little squeeze. "I'm hanging in there," I lie.  
  
He laughs and lets my hand go. "You look like you're gonna toss your cookies any minute now."  
  
I groan. "See, I'm a terrible spy. I can't hide anything anymore."  
  
"That green hue on your face is a little hard to hide without some serious make up," he says playfully.  
  
"Ooooh, shutup," I say slapping him lightly on the knee. "You're enjoying this way too much."  
  
"I've never seen you squirm like this."  
  
"Well…I'm really nervous," I mutter softly.  
  
I am staring straight ahead but I can see him looking at me out of the corner of my eye. "Syd, it's really going to be okay. Don't get all worked up about this. She's going to love you."  
  
I wrap my arms around myself to try and squeeze the nauseous feeling away and before I know it, we are pulling into the driveway. The house is beautiful and it takes me right back to that elective architecture class I took during my senior year in college. I immediately recognize the French influence in the flared eaves, the dormers, the arched doorways, the gables.   
  
"This house is gorgeous," I tell him as he puts the car in park. "This is where you grew up?"  
  
"Yes, since I was five years old," he says taking the key from the ignition. "When my father was promoted up through the CIA, we had to move here to California and this house was the only thing my father had going for him in trying to convince her to come. It's very similar to the house she grew up in in France."  
  
I glance quickly between him and the house and realize how little I know about him: his family, his background, his childhood. For a moment, I wonder why I'd never asked him any questions and then I remember the little bit about my mother killing his father. I figure I probably never wanted to hear about his life without a father.   
  
"You ready?" he asks snapping me out my reverie.   
  
I turn and look at him. He looks like he might be a little nervous too and that calms me a bit. I take a deep breath and manage a smile. "Will you just…will you hold my hand until I'm sure she doesn't want to scream at me?"  
  
He laughs and leans in to kiss me. After, he steps outside the car and comes around to my side to open the door. I glance at the ground and hope that my legs will carry me to the front door. As we make our way up the walkway he gently reaches for my hand.  
  
***  
  
Mrs. Vaughn greets us at the front door and is clearly so happy to see her son that she doesn't even acknowledge me at first. I am grateful for this and enjoy watching them embrace and speak to each other in lightning fast French. When they are finished, Vaughn takes my hand again, "Mom, this is Sydney Bristow."   
  
I put my hand out to greet her and she surprises me by pulling me into a warm embrace. It takes me a minute to register that this is actually happening and when it hits me, I put my arms carefully around her and try to breathe around the lump in my throat. When she lets go, she looks me directly in the eye. My wavering fear returns as her arm moves toward my face. I try to steel myself to the ground and hold my breath to prepare for the slap I am sure is coming but she just places her palm softly against my cheek. "It's so wonderful to finally meet you, Sydney." She speaks with perfect English and only the very slightest hint of an accent. This and her tenderness surprise me.   
  
She seems to understand that I am nervous and she doesn't wait for me to return the sentiment. She ushers us inside and as we follow her into the foyer, I can feel Vaughn's gaze on me. I glance his way and he smiles at me questioningly as though to ask whether I am okay. I nod and offer him a reassuring smile.   
  
As we enter the family room, my eyes are drawn to the beautiful vaulted ceilings and then straight out to the back yard through the French doors. A rich, sweet smell comes from the kitchen and I recognize a spice: coriander, curry, ginger, perhaps saffron.   
  
"I've been experimenting with Indian cuisine lately," she tells us.  
  
"Mom was born to be a chef," Vaughn tells me as he guides me to a seat on the couch in the family room. "She's always experimenting with different cuisines and it all comes out as if she'd been making it her whole life."   
  
I smile and find the courage to offer, "It smells wonderful."  
  
"I've made a curried chicken dish. I hope that sounds good to you," she says hopefully.  
  
"It sounds great, Mrs. Vaughn. I can't wait to try it."  
  
"Please, dear, call me Marie or else I'll begin to feel like I'm back to my days as a high school French teacher."  
  
"I didn't know you were a teacher," I tell her and I immediately regret saying it since it reminds me and makes obvious to her that I really haven't asked Vaughn too much about his family. I worry that she'll take this as my having little interest in all of it when that really is the furthest thing from the truth. "Did you enjoy it?" I ask her hoping to shift the focus away from me and back to her.  
  
"Oh, most of the time it was a lot of trouble having to deal with all the mischief these kids get themselves into. It was a good job to have but I don't miss it now that I'm enjoying my retirement."  
  
I look at her and feel envious. I think about telling her how much I had once wanted to become a teacher but since it requires discussing both versions of my mother along with the distraction provided by SD-6 and the CIA, I keep it to myself. I wonder if I will ever be able to enjoy retirement and, if so, I certainly don't look forward to waiting until then to be with Vaughn full time. I wonder if Vaughn has these same worries and it occurs to me that I should ask him that very question later when we are alone.   
  
Then she surprises me by saying, "Michael tells me you recently finished a graduate program in literature and it's your plan to someday work as a teacher."  
  
I stare at her and then, with panic, glance at Vaughn. His expression is normal and it confuses me. I suddenly realize I have no idea about what is common knowledge here within the Vaughn house. Realizing I should've asked more questions, I lamely say, "Ah, yes. Someday I do hope to be able to do some teaching."  
  
"It's always been difficult for me to understand the level of devotion to the CIA that Michael and my husband have always had. You don't worry me as much," she says with a smile. "You've got your sights set on a different goal."  
  
I feel all the nerves that previously inhabited my body return at full force. My hands are shaking so I squeeze them into fists and take a deep breath. I feel a chill run up my back as I think of Emily, Will, Danny and what happened to each of them once those acronyms (SD-6/CIA) were laid out on the table between each of them and me. I wasn't used to being brutally honest without there being tragic consequences to follow.   
  
Not to mention, it certainly jarred me to hear her talk about me in such a familiar fashion as though she and Vaughn had spent many nights on the telephone discussing the inner workings of my brain. She was speaking with concern for me, lumping me into the inner circle of her family together with the two most important people in her life, and I knew with an awful ache in my stomach that I did not deserve to be there.   
  
"I'm sorry, Sydney," Marie Vaughn says. "Have I said something to upset you?"  
  
I would have liked some time to prepare a safe answer to that question but I can feel her and Vaughn staring at me. "It's just…well, you shouldn't worry about me."  
  
She smiles and winks at me and it's clear she doesn't understand my meaning. "From what Michael has told me, I understand there really is no need for it." She looks down at her lap and gets serious. "That reminds me that I need to thank you for saving his life on more than one occasion."   
  
"No, you don't need to thank me," I tell her. I'd like to follow up by saying _I didn't do it for you_ just to remind her that I am the villain: _the daughter of the woman who murdered your husband._   
  
"Well, I understand that Michael probably means as much to you as he does to me. But I still have to thank you because he is my son and, as I'm sure you know, when we lose people, those that still remain become even more precious."  
  
My eyes begin to tear up as I realize she is not even trying to erase the idea that I ever had a mother. I am quite sure that if I'd been in her shoes, I would not have exhibited the same kindness.   
  
"Mrs. Vaughn," I say with a deep breath. I glance at her and I can tell that she wants to tell me again to call her Marie but she seems to sense that I have something serious to say and holds her tongue.   
  
"Thank you so much for treating me with such kindness. I certainly don't feel like I deserve it. I know this probably doesn't mean anything but I need to apologize to you and to Michael—"   
  
With a glance towards Vaughn, I say softly, "Because I have never said this to you properly—"  
  
"I've learned a lot of things about my mother over this past year. I could give you the whole list but something tells me you both know all about it and, really, what I want to say to both of you is that she is my mother and, despite my best efforts, I think I will always love her."  
  
I let out a deep breath and reach for Vaughn's hand willing him to look at me and he does. "But that day…the day you gave me your father's watch and a million other times after that, not the least of which is coming here to meet you, Mrs. Vaughn, I realized there is one thing I can never forgive her for. I'm so sorry for what she did to both of you and I'm so sorry that I'll never know Mr. Vaughn."   
  
I can't bring myself to look at either of them when I finish so I stare at the rug and try to breathe away the pain in my throat caused by my determination to hold back tears. It's so quiet then I can hear birds chirping outside the French doors and it's the kind of quiet that feels as though it could swallow you whole if it sticks around long enough. Desperate for someone to speak, I finally look up to find Mrs. Vaughn eyeing me closely. She doesn't look angry or bitter. She actually offers me a smile filled with kindness and understanding and I can't help but think about how right Vaughn was when he said she had a way about her.  
  
"I wish you could have known him too," she says never breaking eye contact with me. "Thank you for what you said, dear, but I hope that you know that I don't in any way blame you for his death. The first time I suggested that Michael bring you for dinner he pointed out how awkward the situation may be and I guess I just never thought of it. Ever since I knew that Irina Derevko had a daughter, I've thought of you as someone who's been through as much suffering as Michael and I have been through."  
  
She leans forward in her chair and holds my gaze. I am overwhelmed by her compassion and her strength and I try to breathe away the tears that are threatening the back of my throat.   
  
"Your mother has done a terrible thing but I forgave her many, many years ago, before there was even a name to my husband's killer. I had to do that so that I could move on with my life. I hope that gives you some peace," she says sincerely.  
  
I stare at this woman and see the picture of normalcy. For the first time the idea of "normal" is so clear, so palpable and I find myself believing it is something that can actually be achieved. I spent so many years living in a world filled with regret and a deep desire for revenge. This world made it hard to imagine a life of peace, a life where forgiveness is a possibility. In that moment, all the nerves I had ever felt about meeting Mrs. Vaughn suddenly go away and I feel completely comfortable, completely like Sydney Bristow.   
  
"Now," she says in a more upbeat tone. "I hadn't wanted all of this to ruin our visit so let's get on with getting to know each other. Okay?"   
  
***  
  
Over dinner, Marie explains that she met Bill in early 1959. As a student of International Relations with the University of California at Los Angeles, Bill Vaughn landed an internship with the American Embassy in Paris a little less than one month after Charles De Gaulle became the President of France.   
  
"I was 18 at the time and attending the University of Paris at Sorbonne for my degree in teaching. Every Sunday I would attend mass at St-Sulpice and then go to have coffee and read the newspaper in Café de la Mairie. I was such a creature of habit that I even had this one particular table I sat at every Sunday morning," she laughs when she says this and for a second she seems like the 18 year old girl she is talking about. "So, one Sunday I enter the café, order my coffee and head for my table and someone is actually sitting there…in my seat!"  
  
"The first thing I notice is that he's attempting to read the newspaper with the aid of a French to English dictionary and it hits me that this man is American so I decide I'll scare him out of my seat." She winks at Vaughn and the sound of his laughter is so new to me that I can't help but glance in his direction. He looks so happy and relaxed and at home.   
  
"So I say, in French, 'Excuse me, sir, but this is the seat I sit in every Sunday and if I can't sit here today it'll completely throw my day off and it will probably cause me to fail the huge test I have tomorrow. You see, I'm a creature of habit…' and that's when he starts flipping frantically through his dictionary. Finally he says 'Parlez vous Anglais, Mademoiselle?' and he looks at me with these terrified eyes and I can't help but laugh."  
  
She shakes her head, laughing at the memory and takes a bite of the delicious chicken curry she made.   
  
"So, did you take pity on him after that?" I ask her.  
  
"I have to say I thought he was pretty handsome so I took advantage of my having the upper hand and admitted that I knew how to speak English then I invited myself to join him at _my_ table," she winks. "I guess the rest is history."   
  
"That's so romantic," I tell her.  
  
"Well, the really romantic part is that Bill took me back to that café on a Sunday morning four years later and asked me, in French, to marry him."   
  
I draw in a deep breath, "Oh, wow, that must've been amazing."  
  
"It was. Aside from the day Michael was born, that _was_ the best day of my life."  
  
"So, you dated for four years? That's a long time."  
  
"Well, when we met we were both still in school so we had work to do. Also, Bill was a student at UCLA and he spent most of those four years in the United States."  
  
"That must've been hard."  
  
"No harder than what you and Michael have gone through and continue to go through," she says with a knowing smile that makes me blush. "Besides, I think the time and the distance only made our relationship stronger." She excuses herself from the table and heads to the refrigerator to replenish her glass of white wine. With her gone, the tension between Vaughn and I is thick and I don't dare glance his way. Only a mother could so innocently put the issues of marriage and love on the table well before a couple was ready for any such discussion. I decide I should change the subject.  
  
"So, Marie, this visit won't be complete if I leave here without some kind of embarrassing story from Michael's childhood that I can spread around the office on Monday."  
  
I hear Vaughn gasp and since I successfully lightened the mood I dare to look over at him. He is wearing the perfect expression, a cross between complete amusement and total shock. He says, "What kind of game are you playing?" and I laugh so hard it hurts.  
  
"If you want embarrassing, I'm pretty sure Eric knows all those stories," Marie says with a huge smile. "Eric did get the biggest laugh in hearing that Michael's favorite TV show was _Charlie's Angels_. I think he was about six years old when the show first aired and that Halloween he asked if he could dress up as an Angel. Isn't that sweet?"   
  
I look at Vaughn and he groans with embarrassment. "Don't believe a thing she tells you."  
  
"_Charlie's Angels_ was my favorite show too," I say putting my hand on his shoulder. "One year for Halloween I wanted to be Jill Munroe…she was my favorite Angel but my nanny and I decided that since I didn't have blonde hair, it wouldn't work. My next choice was Kelly but all the Kelly-like outfits we could come up with weren't warm enough to wear out so I was stuck being Sabrina which wasn't necessarily terrible, just not my first choice. So, which Angel was your first choice?"   
  
He sighs and laughs as he glances between his mother and I and we both stare at him waiting for an answer. He rolls his eyes, "Well, wasn't Jill everyone's favorite?"  
  
I smile and suppress a laugh. "You do have Jill's hair," I say giving him a quick noogie on the top of his head. He swats my hand away and flashes me a fake, angry look.  
  
When we finish laughing, Marie serves dessert. "It's called Kheer. It's similar to rice pudding but it's made with Indian spices. I hope you'll like it. It's my first time trying this recipe."  
  
I taste the Kheer. "It's delicious. Everything has been so good."   
  
"Yes, Mom, really good."  
  
She smiles. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I don't have much occasion to cook like this anymore so you two will have to come and visit more often," she says hopefully.  
  
"I would really love that," I say too quickly. Worried that I am being too presumptuous, I glance at Vaughn but he just smiles.  
  
"Maybe Syd will join us for Easter," he suggests to his mother. "It's less than a month from now," he says looking back at me.  
  
"There is always Thanksgiving and Christmas too," Marie says. "Your father…he is welcome to come too."  
  
I suddenly feel nervous again. The idea of including my father in all of this and just the general suggestion that Vaughn and I would last the nine months until Thanksgiving is both exciting and terrifying at the same time. It is nice to know it is an attractive possibility for Marie but it is difficult for me to think that far ahead and I know it is the same way for Vaughn. He and I share a look and it is clear neither of us wants to be the one to say that we should just take one holiday at a time.  
  
As we prepare to leave, Marie asks Vaughn to bring some firewood in from the pile out behind the house so she wouldn't have to venture out there in the dark by herself after our departure. When he is gone, it becomes clear that she may not have needed the firewood after all.  
  
"I just wanted to say to you privately that it's been wonderful meeting you. For a few months now, I've been aware of how much you'd changed Michael but it was truly special to see how much happiness you bring to each other. I know that with all you're going through right now, it's hard to imagine a time when the two of you might be able to settle down and truly be together but don't lose faith. The time will come and when it does you'll be thankful for even the difficult times." She smiles and leans in to embrace me.  
  
There isn't time for me to say anything back because Vaughn returns with all the wood he can carry and puts it down by the fireplace. We thank his mother and say our goodbyes then we get in his car and make the drive back to my place.  
  
"That was a really wonderful day," I tell him as he pulls the car onto the freeway. "Thank you for bringing me home to meet your Mom."  
  
He lets out a small laugh, "It was a nice day. I think she loves you. She's already inviting you _and your Dad_ for Thanksgiving."   
  
"Yeah, I couldn't really imagine my Dad and your Mom in the same room. They're polar opposites. I wonder if my father even knows how to smile," I chuckle.  
  
"But, you, what about you coming for Thanksgiving?" he asks the question in a sheepish tone that makes me think he is afraid of the answer. "I mean, what if there was no CIA, no Sloane, no Irina Derevko? What if there was just you and me? Would you say yes right now to Thanksgiving dinner in nine months?"  
  
I take a deep breath and realize what he is asking. "Yes, of course."  
  
He takes his eyes off the road to look at me and his whole face lights up with a smile. "Good," he says before quickly looking back to the road. "So, let's make that a tentative date, okay?"  
  
"Yeah, okay," I say reaching over to take his hand.  
  
As we lay in bed that night trying to fall asleep I think about how unfair it is that, try as we might, Vaughn and I can never really be normal people who plan for a future. Our lives and our very relationship is a vicious cycle ripe with irony.  
  
"It's so weird, this thing with us," I whisper through the dark.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I've always been a realist and I never believed in the idea that there is this one right person in the world for everyone. When I met you I was still in love with Danny so my feelings for you weren't instant, but I think I knew even then how much you were meant to be in my life."  
  
He reaches over me to turn the lamp on. He props himself up on his elbow and waits for me to continue.  
  
"There's just so much about us that seems to say we're all wrong for each other and somehow that makes us exactly right for each other. Do you know what I mean?"  
  
He smiles and nods in agreement.  
  
"I never thought I'd fall in love with someone and be as sure as I am right now that I don't ever want to be without you. It's not fair that we have to wait to start our lives. I wish so much that the circumstances were different yet I know that if they were, we probably never would've met."  
  
He smiles and rolls onto his back pulling me with him. "Did you just say you love me?"  
  
I roll my eyes. "Well, yes, but that is hardly the point, _Angel_."  
  
"Oh, ha ha," he deliberately grabs at the ticklish spot on my right side and flips me onto my back then quiets my giggles with a kiss. He pulls away but stays close. "I understand what you're saying and I share your frustration but I think what we have is worth however long we have to wait. At least we get to be together and at least we get to acknowledge our feelings without worrying that one or both of us is going to be killed. I mean, you have to admit that is at least a step in the right direction. I know you want normal, Syd. I'm just not so sure normal exists but if it does, I promise we'll get there someday."


End file.
